


We Already Know How This Ends

by tielan



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Pre-Movie(s), Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: The week before her wedding, Angela Hansen is a wreck.





	We Already Know How This Ends

**Author's Note:**

> A little thing I wrote, fleshing out headcanons and characterisation for a backstory that never eventuated.

It’s not the wedding Angela wanted.

Not pregnant. Not this young. And definitely not with her mum organising the wedding to her own standards. If Elisabeth Frascati couldn’t get her daughter married off to someone who would do their family proud, then by _God_ she was going to make sure the wedding was the biggest thing this side of the harbour, every inch the spectacle.

All the effort isn’t for Angela and Herc’s sake, of course – it’s so Elisabeth can continue to hold her head up among her friends.

And, Angela thinks, it’s to impress on Herc and his family exactly _how important_ the Frascatis are, and how _generous_ they are to allow him to marry their daughter.

Personally, Ange thinks that Herc is about as terrified as she is – well, probably more, because at least she _knew_ the complete clusterfuck that her mother was capable of orchestrating, while he’s probably never had to deal with anything worse than the Country Women’s Association asking him to move tables at the town fete. Or something.

One week before the wedding – the night before the planned hens’ day out in town – Angela takes refuge at Belle’s house. Because Belle’s the chief bridesmaid and has not only two sisters, but an awesome mum, who has been _wonderful_ at not-judging her for being so stupid as to get pregnant to a boy who is…decidedly not the kind of guy Angela ever imagined marrying.

When she imagined getting married at all.

“I’m an idiot. And a waterfall.”

“You’re pregnant,” says Lil with the kind of motherly gentleness that Ange’s own mother never shows, fielding the box of tissues thrust at her by Helen, as she heads down the corridor to her own room. Betsy – Belle’s twin – has already gone upstairs, but Helen was doing the washing up and so has been an unseen witness to most of Angela’s post-dinner sobbing.

Helen _definitely_ thinks Ange is an idiot. Even if she hasn’t said anything. Helen doesn’t _need_ to say anything. She just _looks_.

But Ange appreciates the tissue box.

“I should have just gone and seen a doctor, I mean, if I hadn’t been seeing Herc that night and just blurted it out…”

And he’d done the honourable thing. Of course he had. Because he was Herc and that was part of the reason she’d liked him in the first place.

“It’s done now.” Lil pulls up a handful of tissues. “You’re getting married in a week. Unless you want to back out. You don’t have to do this, you know. There are a lot of options these days—”

“But—my mum—”

“It’s not her place to be living with you and your husband—”

“Can we get that in writing?” Helen yells down the hallway.

On the other side of the couch, Belle scowls and calls back, “Shut your face and shut your door!”

The door doesn’t quite slam. But the exchange makes Ange smile through the tears. Lil looks ruefully amused, and Belle huffs. “ _Why_ can’t we disown her?”

Lil doesn’t answer that, dark eyes focusing on Angela. “If you really don’t want to be married to Herc, then call it off. Yes, there’ll be consequences, but they’ll mostly be financial and temporary. And, yes, your mum will be angry given how much she’s putting into this, but I know I’d rather my girls were pregnant and unwed than married and unhappy.”

“Yeah, like either situation is going to happen, Mum,” Belle sniffs. “And have you _met_ her mum?”

“Annabelle…”

Belle sighs and nudges Ange’s shoulder. “Have you talked your cold feet over with Herc?”

“Yes. Sort of. No. I mean, we both know how this ends. His parents weren’t exactly happy families, either. They just had the sense to split before things got really bitter.”

She doesn’t want that poisonous bitterness in her own house, but isn’t there something about how kids always end up just like their parents?

“It ends,” Lil says firmly, “the way you’re willing to work to _make_ it end. And no, it won’t be easy for either of you. But from what I’ve heard, young Mr. Hansen seems like a fairly responsible sort.”

"No fate but what we make for ourselves,” Ange mutters.

“You could just, you know, live in sin,” Belle says in a mock-whisper. “But don’t tell Bets I said that.”

Ange snorts with laughter – the Jiangs are religious as a family, but Bets is particularly Evangelical – a term that Helen _and_ Belle have used to describe their sister at various points in time. Then she hiccups as her phone rings and the number display is Herc’s mobile. “Oh, fuck—Um. Sorry. I didn’t—Uh. What do I say?”

“‘Hi’ usually works,” Lil says drolly, patting Angela on the knee before she stands. “And if you need a lift home, Belle will drive you.”

Ange takes a deep breath and answers the phone. “Hey, Herc.”

“Hey. I was—Are you okay? You sound…kind of thick.”

“I’m fine. I’m just—crying.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, and she can imagine his expression – kind of like a wince that says he’s going to regret asking this but he does have to know. “Is it…the baby?”

“Sort of.”

“Right.” He hesitates again. “Look, I was going to come around, but if you’re feeling kind of emotional…”

“No!” Ange wants to see him. “I’m at the Jiangs. Can you come around and pick me up?”

“Sure. Address?” She gives him the address and he repeats it, just to make sure he’s got it all sorted. Herc’s like that – he likes to be sure, to know the score, although she’s found he’s pretty good at winging it. “Righto. I’ll be there in twenty. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. I’m good. Just…come by, okay?”

“Sure. Love you.”

He always says that at the end of their conversations. It never fails to make Ange smile. “Ditto.”

“Well, he’s not quite Patrick Swayze,” Belle says – thankfully _after_ Ange has hung up, “but then you’re no Demi Moore, either.” She slides an arm around Ange’s shoulder and hugs. “If you _want_ to back out, then we’re here. If you want to stay in, we’re here. Right?”

“Right.”

“And, you know, you don’t _know_ about the future. You might end up with seven kids. That sing. Like the Von Trapps.”

"Their mother died,” Ange reminds her. “And their dad remarried the nanny.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s _The Nanny_.”

"Can you see Herc marrying Fran Fine? Seriously? Pick a better example.”

“Don’t know any.” Belle flops back, resting her hands on her belly. “Anyway. Tomorrow, we eat, drink, and be merry, because next week you’re… _going to the chapel and you’re…gonna get maaaaaaarrieed!_ ”

Ange pulls a cushion out from behind her back and whacks Belle with it. Belle giggles, but doesn’t stop singing as she reaches for a cushion of her own, and they bop each other on the head between breathless lyrics for the next five minutes.

By the time Herc arrives in his 1987 powder-blue Commodore, Ange’s in a better mood.

Maybe they’ll make it; maybe they won’t.

But they don’t know how this will end. And as long as they don’t, they can work to make it end well.

They _will_.


End file.
